𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (Completed)

16. P L E A S E T A L K T O ME

C H A C E' S  P.O.V

Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at us. My hand was on my seven year old cheek, not understanding what I did wrong or why I deserved to be "punished".  A scorching pain shot up, running my tongue over my lip tasting the metallic texture of blood.

All I ever asked was for the last slice of pizza remaining on the plate, sounding as polite as any well behaved child would be. Was saying "Please" a mistake?

"You imbecile little twit..." my mother hissed. "I've had a long hard day where I slogged my ass, from morning till evening, and you dare to threaten me that you wanted another slice?!" She screams, slapping her hands on the table as the glasses shake.

The floor beneath my feet ripples, my head hung low refusing to meet my mother's gaze. "You are an ungrateful little shit. You hear me? You are an ungrateful piece of trash, I didn't know what sins have I committed to deserve you!"

Gulping, she grabs a fistful of my hair and whips it away, hitting it against the wall of the booth. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. If you do, she will hurt you again.

"But mom..." I grapple to keep my voice from quaking.

"I've been good today. I shared my food with Becky Delbassio at school today because her momma forgot to pack her lunch,"  I blink twice. "Does that still make me a "Bad Boy?" 

"You did what? You had... some nerve to share my hard earned money with a bitch?"

Mom snaps, taking a knife and slicing the pizza into half. "You even have the balls to question my dignity?!" 

Flinching with fear, I cringe against the wall for support, wishing someone at least someone, would help me. No one did. They just continued to look on, as if it wasn't their problem.

Dragging me by my arm, mom kicks off her shoes and kicks the door closed with her foot, the T.V in the living room left on. My eyes widened with horror, knowing what was going to happen next.

"Mark!" Mom yelled over the noise coming from the T.V screen, a beer can rolling and stopping by my feet.

"What?!" Dad slurred, getting up. "What did this imp do now?!" "He called you the 'L' word," mom lies. "Seek him out." Dad's blood shot eyes flashed with indignation as he stormed towards me, his hands circling around my face. A muffled scream erupted and his fist collided with my temple. "Dad... no ... please ... don't do this..!" I cried,  as he rolled down his pants, removing his belt from the loops, a sharp, agonizing slash pinching my back. The next thing I knew, he was on top of me ripping my shirt off  and I caterwauled into unconsciousness.

I saw my childhood replay in front of me and it brought me back to relive that Sunday night.
I wasn't in Lester's, I was at my house begging my mom to stop, promising that I will be a better son. As usual, she did nothing to prevent me from waking up in my own blood, body sore and legs bound to the toilet seat. I can still hear her words echoing through my head, I kick a pile of trash cans, lifting the empty one up and dumping it to the ground.